Page 114 of Halfling
He bore her back down into the nest of furs, kissing her long and deep as he found his place between her thighs. He held his big body over her, lavishing her with the kind of tender kisses and touches that were sure to make her quim go slick in no time at all.
“Now,” he purred, “I mean to assure my mate as much as she can stand.”
Sorcha could only hum in agreement as he made his way down her body andfeasted.The excitement and nerves bled away under his tongue and touches, and for a long while, and hopefully the rest of their days, she let him show her exactly what it meant to be mate-bonded.
27
They didn’t get an early start that morning. Knowing that she’d see her family very soon, that underlying urgency beneath her breastbone Sorcha had had for weeks finally eased. Instead, she enjoyed a final quiet morning with her halfling.
They fed each other breakfast, helped the other dress, and she plaited Orek’s mane as he played with Darrah in his lap. It was sweet and soppy and Sorcha loved every moment.
The sun was far ahead of them by the time they set out, hand-in-hand. The further they went, the more of the landscape Sorcha recognized. She pointed out all the good places she’d hid herself while playing hide-and-seek with her siblings, where she and Connor had built a little fort once, and smiled wide when they came upon the lake near the family home.
She’d no idea the lake flowed into a river that ran all the way south, down into those wild mountains where orcs lurked. Perhaps it was that soppiness of the morning, but she liked the thought that she’d always been linked to her halfling; that perhaps, one way or another, she’d always been meant to find her way downriver to him.
As the sun approached its highest point, she began to recognize every tree and knew the moment they stepped onto Brádaigh land. Every rock, every deer path was more than familiar. She loved pointing out her favorite things and telling Orek a story about each—that was where they hung the first swing, and over there the second when Connor broke the first. Over there was where Niall had fallen off a donkey he’d stolen from the stables to try riding after their father. And there were the thickets of blackberry bushes they spent summers harvesting, staining themselves purple.
Orek listened with a small smile on his lips, eyes lingering on each place she pointed out. Her heart swelled to see him here, inherplace.
I can’t wait to show him everything.
They rounded a tall outcropping of boulders, littered with scratched graffito and haphazard rock sculptures, and Sorcha’s breath caught in her throat.
Just ahead, in the meadow next to the Brádaigh home, sat her sister Blaire, back against a tree as she read. Their youngest sister, Keeley, ran in circles around her and the tree, singing nonsense rhymes to goad Blaire into chasing her.
Keeley’s head of dark blonde curls whipped about when she next rounded the tree, and she skidded to a stop in the grass. Pushing the hair out of her big eyes, she gasped.
“SORCHA!”
Blaire’s gaze snapped up. “Sorcha!” she yelped, and then both girls were barreling for her.
Weight lifted off her shoulders, and it took Sorcha a moment to realize it was her pack being taken off. Orek held it by the straps, his expression soft when he said, “Go.”
Sorcha’s face cracked in a wide smile, letting loose the tears she’d held back since the first days of the journey north. They spilled from her eyes as she ran for her sisters.
They threw their smaller bodies at her, all excited squealing and big tears. Keeley’s nose already ran, her face gone red and damp from crying, but Sorcha didn’t care. She fell to her knees and let Keeley bury her face in her neck, the girl hiccupping with sobs. Sorcha wrapped Blaire up in her other arm, holding onto both sisters with all her might.
The girls petted her hair and touched her face, asking over and over if it was really her, where she’d been, why she left them.
“You aren’t allowed to leave!” Keeley wailed, her little fists full of Sorcha’s coat, as if she’d try to leave again if she didn’t hold on.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Sorcha soothed. “But I came back to you as soon as I could.”
Across the meadow, the heavy front door slammed open, and Sorcha looked up in time to see her mother’s apron go flying as she hustled from the house. She turned searching eyes on the meadow before spotting the girls piled atop Sorcha.
Aoife screeched, a noise Sorcha had never heard her make before, her hands fluttering in the air.
“Sorcha!” she cried. She dropped the ladle and pot she’d been holding and ran for the meadow, yelling over her shoulder, “Ciaran—Ciaran,it’sSorcha!”
It was only another moment and then Aoife had Sorcha’s face between her hands. Sorcha breathed in a lungful of the familiar smells of her mother, baking sugar and honey, lemon and lavender. Her mother’s hands were dry and trembled against her skin. Her curls were piled atop her head with a fillet, and Sorcha thought more had gone gray than she remembered.
Aoife ran her hands over her daughter’s face, as if she looked to confirm that this was real. Sorcha didn’t miss the new lines running beneath her mother’s eyes, nor the dark crescents that rimmed them.
“Mama,” Sorcha breathed, heart so full of joy and relief it hurt.
Aoife’s face crumpled, and then she was on the ground with her daughters, holding on as they wept. “Sorcha, Sorcha, my darling,” she babbled, pressing wet kisses into Sorcha’s forehead.
All she could do was hold on as her family joined the weeping pile in the meadow. Next came Calum and Maeve, looking at each other in shock before hustling to see what the matter was. It’d been years since Sorcha had seen Maeve excited to see her, but even her haughty sister fell to the ground in relief, throwing her arms around Sorcha.
